Knowing
by LoveChilde
Summary: Logan doesn't know everything, and not everyone knows about Logan. Rating subject to change, spoilers up to Mars vs. Mars, bit of an AU afterwards. LoganVeronica friendship.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Ok…Here I go again. This one is a multi-parter, and could possibly get longish. It deviates from canon after Mars vs. Mars, but I'll try to incorporate canon bits as they're handed to us. Originally posted on and will continue to be posted there. Rating subject to change. V/L friendship- possibly romance later but I doubt it.

As far as Logan knows, only three people who matter in the world know about it, now.

He knows, of course. How could he not know? He's the one living through it. He's the one dreading his father's childish bursts of rage. He's the one hiding his bruises in PhysEd, avoiding sports and beaches as much as he can, being Californian. The very few scars he can cover for easily, but fresh marks are harder to hide, in summer. He's lucky, though- his father is usually away on location shoots in summer, leaving him mostly safe.

His father knows. The perfect Aaron Echolls, media darling supreme, even after his cheating ways are celebrated on national television. He knows how he treats his son, behind closed doors, when there are no cameras. But his father isn't one of the people who matter. His father matters less than dirt, as long as he's far, far away.

His mother knows. She'll never do anything about it, but she knows. She can't help it, sharing the vast, empty mansion with them. She sits there, listening, drinking and medicating herself into oblivion when his father beats him, but she never steps in. She never says anything. She'd appear, suddenly, after he'd gone up to his room, with a glass of water and a few of her favorite pills for him. He always refused them. After he turned fifteen, she'd stopped doing that as well. Now she just sat, and hated, quietly. He could feel her hate even through a closed door, and wondered how it didn't burn his father where he stood.

Duncan knows. There was no hiding it from him. Duncan had known since the first time his father used a belt, when Logan was eleven. Before that it had been his hand, a book, whatever came to hand fastest. After the first belt incident Logan tried to run away, and ended up at Duncan's for the night. Duncan wanted to call the police, tell his parents, do anything, but Logan begged him not to tell. He remembers them, burning childish fury facing off against quiet, defeated desperation. It one of three times Logan can recall that he admitted defeat. Duncan never told. It became something of a ritual- Aaron would explode, Logan would take his punishment, and move into the spare room next to Duncan's for a day or two. The Kanes never asked, and Aaron didn't care, once his rage was vented, where his son slept.

Lilly knew. A year younger than both of them, she was always there, quiet and watchful when she wanted to be, on the sidelines with her girlfriends when he came over. Later, when they were in high school together, he was terrified she'd find out and despise him for his weakness, for not putting a stop to it. But he knew he couldn't- telling would destroy his life. Duncan never understood that, but accepted it all the same. Lilly understood. Lilly knew, even before they started going out together. She knew when not to hug him too hard and when to use her parents' private pool, without asking. For two years, even when they weren't technically a couple, he found himself in her bed after punishment sessions, face down with her butterfly fingers rubbing cold cream on his back. That usually ended their 'off' periods. It was never about pity with Lilly, though. They were simply two of a kind, and she knew she was the only thing that kept him going sometimes. He loved her.

Lilly was dead now. One less person who knew about it. One less person who cared about him. And ever since then, he doesn't even have Duncan to comfort him. At first they were both too broken up over Lilly, and later, after he started with the pills, it was like he wasn't the same person anymore. There was nothing behind his eyes. Like talking to a picture of his best friend.

The staff at home knew- how could they not? But they were too smart to say anything or try to help him out. He made sure he was just mean enough to them not to get pitying looks, without getting his morning coffee spat in. He made his own coffee.

Veronica didn't know. Or at least, he was pretty sure she didn't. No way of knowing, the way she was now. And he didn't really care. But this was Veronica- if she knew, she'd either try to get him into as much trouble as she could as revenge, or call childcare services on him. Not like her to keep her nose out of other people's business. No, she very obviously didn't know. He's sure Lilly never told, and he knows Duncan never would.

But he misses having someone who knew and cared. He's Logan Echolls, ladies' man, all round popular snotty rich kid, and he misses his friends. He misses the old Duncan. He misses Lilly so much it hurts. He even misses Veronica, teasing her without being hurtful, and worrying about revenge. Her vengeance hurts too much.

He notices there are fewer pranks that get him into trouble at school now. After the one with the bong, that got him suspended for three days and one of the worst beatings he could remember, for getting caught, there had been no more that ended in Aaron even finding out. Did she know? Was she trying to avoid it? He tries not to wonder.

And now his mother's gone. Gone. Not dead. He can't believe she'd dead. He won't. After Lilly, she was the only thing keeping him going. That and his own stubborn pride, knowing he'd be safely out of the house in a year. He could delude himself that by letting his father hit him he was protecting her, that if he wasn't there, she'd be the one getting the belt or worse. Now she's gone, he can't even tell himself that anymore. But his father doesn't even try to hit him now, or hasn't in the week that's passed. He's been to busy with photo-ops and late night shows, E! featurettes and the rest of the circus that was his life. And Logan is free to get Veronica to work for him.

He's surprised when she agrees. Even more surprised when she's nice to him, however mean he is. Not sugary sweet, but she doesn't kick him out, either. There's almost no pity in her eyes, either. Just understanding. Like Lilly. When they find that kid and his video, he doesn't look at her. He knows that there'll be pity there. She thinks her mother's still alive, too. She's like him, a little. And he can't take any of it anymore. Logan doesn't flee from places. At most, he beats an elegant retreat. There's nothing elegant about his headlong rush out of the journalism room, out of the school. He doesn't even think about what people might say.

Driving's out. He's too dazed, the world too washed clean of all colors, for it to be safe. And he's not suicidal yet. Somehow, though streets that don't look like his home town anymore, he makes it home. His father's in the entertainment room, flipping through channels. He's dressed in his daysuit- just in, then. He's been home far too much lately. He was flipping through entertainment channels, of course. Checking out his own PR. Suddenly completely drained of anything, Logan does the single stupidest thing he can do. He stops and watches as well. Which means he can't help noting that at least three channels are running his little explosion in front of several cameras from the previous day. Aaron sees it as well, and his eyes narrow dangerously. Logan doesn't even bother to back away. It doesn't matter. Aaron stands up, an ugly snarl twisting his poster-perfect face. One hand flies back, slaps him hard. The other points to the bedroom.

Logan doesn't fight it. It doesn't matter, His mother's dead. For all he cares, Aaron can kill him now. In fact, he'd better kill him, because there's nothing in the world stopping Logan from doing the same. Except for the fact that he stopped fighting about a decade ago, and he hasn't the energy, the will, to even contemplate it now. Numb fingered, he picks out a random belt. Some remaining instinct of self preservation prompts him to find one with a small, round buckle. It'll hurt, but he needs the pain. Pain meant he was still alive. For now, at least.

He doesn't flinch when Aaron slaps the belt down. He doesn't care. He stands there and takes it. It's longer than ever before, harder, and there's animal rage behind the blows this time. In the one corner of his mind that isn't currently on hold, fear starts to bloom. He's gonna kill me this time. He really is. He knows it, now. Now that he hears the heavy breathing behind him, the choked curses. He knows, in the one lucid corner, that Aaron isn't just beating him any more. He's taking out all the anger he has, at Lynn, at the media, maybe even at himself, if he has any. On Logan. All of it.

Before he has time to panic and move, he feels something hit hard against his head, and the world fades to blackness.


	2. 2

Disclaimer in first chapter

He wakes to a world of pain and too-bright lights. For a moment, he wants to panic. Someone took him to the hospital. Now everyone is going to know. Oh God. But there are butterfly fingers on his burning back, and he recognizes the feeling of silk sheets, his mother's lingering scent. No. Just laundry detergent. The sheets are his. And the fingers…Is he dreaming?

"Lilly?" His voice isn't his own. Raspy, too weak. What's wrong with him?

"Lilly's dead, Logan." And it's like being told that the first time. Logan feels his eyes fill with tears and lowers his head back to the bed. His bed. His room. Veronica's voice. Veronica?

"What?" Stronger now, angrier. What was she doing here? What the hell was going on? He couldn't remember, or didn't want to. He knew Lilly was dead. What the hell was Veronica doing in his room, touching him? And why did he feel like he'd been skinned alive? Oh. That. More tears leaking out slowly and soaking into the sheets. He can't make them stop. He doesn't care enough to try. "He didn't kill me." He sounds dead, to himself. Defeated again. He couldn't even manage that.

"No, he didn't." She agrees. There's no anger in her voice. No forced cheeriness, either. Just calm efficiency. Very Veronica Mars. Her fingers probe a particularly sore spot and he feels wetness spreading out and hisses in pain. "Sorry." The hand pulls away, coming to rest almost immediately on another welt, almost as painful. He doesn't hiss this time. Just closes his eyes and wishes death would claim him anyway.

"Don't want your 'sorry'." He snarls, making an effort to turn. "What the hell are you doing here, you bitch?"

Hurt look in her eyes. Looks rumpled, as if she ran all the way here. Hands holding a first aid kit. Better than his own. The hurt disappears, replaced by the famed resolve he hates so much. "Turn back over. I need to clean those." She orders, nudging him slightly with one hand. Somewhere along the way, he notes, he'd lost his pants, and if the soreness and unusual draft are anything to go by, his shorts as well, but that's safely under a sheet. He doesn't want to think. He turns over, shuddering.

"Go away."

"No. You need help."

"Don't want your help." He mumbled into his pillow. He wants her to go away and stop being nice to him. He wants to get completely wasted. He wants to die. He doesn't want to be lying here with tears in his eyes, naked, while Veronica Mars, the girl responsible for most of the bad things in his life, cleaned his cuts. "Go the fuck away."

She doesn't even answer. Her fingers feel a bit different from Lilly's, more agile, less delicate. He doesn't protest anymore, not even when she tugs the sheet down and oh-so-carefully spreads cold cream on his ass as well. Any other day he'd either be running away or enjoying every second, making her blush in anger or embarrassment. He hasn't the energy for either.

"You need to go to the hospital." She says at least. "Some of those could get infected. And you need to be tested for a concussion."

"No hospital." He's adamant on that point, at least. Besides, he knows what a concussion feels like, and this isn't it. He'd simply blacked out for a moment when the buckle hit his head. Never happened before, but with his father, there were always first time. "No concussion." One bleary eye fixed on her, "Trust me."

"Ok." She agrees quietly. "But I'm gonna need to do some serious disinfecting back there. It's gonna hurt." She doesn't sound much like herself either, now that he's listening. She sounds almost scared.

"Already hurts." He doesn't shrug, but he wants to. It'd hurt more, so he lies still, again. He pushes deeper into the mattress with his whole body, using the pressure to block out the agony. He can't help a whimper or two escaping. Whenever he does, she stops and lets him rest for a bit, her fingers playing with his hair, carefully avoiding the bump, letting him breathe through the pain. Finally, her hands leave him completely. Strangely, it makes him feel terribly alone.

"Done." She says, fatigue in her voice. What time is it? He sighs. It still hurts worse than anything his father had ever done, but slowly cooling now. He doesn't know what to say to her. Thank her? For what? He'd rather have died.

"Why did you…" Help me? Come here? Not do anything earlier?

"I'm not sure." The honest reply jars him out of his haze of misery. Now that he takes a good look, he can see shimmering fury in her eyes, just behind the oh-so-professional look. "I wanted to show you the credit card record, 'cause you ran off too fast and didn't give me a chance to finish, and when I saw…I figured no one else would do anything. Duncan, maybe, but he's in no shape to help, like always."

She keeps surprising him, and he opens both eyes and raises his head to look at her. The question in his eyes is clearer than words- how long had she known? She shrugs a little.

"I had no idea, Logan. Really. Not until I came and- But I should;ve known. My dad had a case…" She hesitates over the word, "Domestic abuse, they called it. After they found the bong in your locker," Always careful, even now. He's still a snake, even if she remembers now he was also a friend once. "I should've put two and two together." Suddenly she blames herself for not noticing earlier, and her thoughts spill out unchecked, "Lilly and Duncan must have known. The clues were always there. The way you always slept over at Lilly's, even with Celeste frowning at you all the time. The days you ditched PhysEd for no reason. You need to-"

"Nothing." His voice is hard and rough. "Nothing at all, Veronica. Keep out of this." But she's already in it up to her neck and he knows it. No way she'll keep quiet.

"Ok." Startling him again. "You have…enough on your plate without me calling in the cops on your dad. It _is_ your dad, isn't it?"

He lowers his head again, feeling his shoulders start to shake. "Logan…" She hesitates again. "I'm sorry. There's…if you don't want to do anything, there's nothing else I can say."

That does it. The shaking gets more pronounced, and he tries to pull his legs up before remembering he's naked and giving it up. Some things Veronica doesn't need to see, even when he doesn't really care whether he lives or dies. Her hands surround him carefully, somehow finding a position that doesn't rub against anything, and she holds him, saying nothing, long after the sobs go away at last and he settles into a restless half sleep. He's too comfortable, too worn out by that whole week, to even think that he's resting in the arms of a girl who hates him, and who he hates back. She's not the enemy now. She's a person who cares, and he can rest now.


	3. 3

Veronica watches him, a boy who hates her, and for a reason she understands and can respect, if not fully agree with. A boy she hates, for several reasons. A boy she's stopped hating, over the past few weeks. A former friend who needed someone desperately now.

She has no idea what drove her to come to him. She likes to think it might have been Lilly's ghost. It might have been the look on Logan's face when he left the journalism room, though, combined with the comments on the radio on the way home, and her newfound knowledge about him. She wants to kick herself for not noticing earlier. She wants to be angry with Duncan and Lilly for not telling her. But it wasn't their secret to tell. She wants to call her dad, have him pick them both up and keep them safe. She wants to kill Aaron Echolls in painful, creative ways. But she doesn't. She just holds him, because turning this into another media pageant wouldn't help anybody. She feels sorry for him, for his loss, for his show. But she doesn't quite pity him. Not really. She knows he'd hate that.

She can't forget coming to the house, though. She tried to get in through his private entrance, and was cornered by a maid. As soon as she identified herself as a classmate of Logan's, the maid tried to shoo her away. Veronica decided to stop playing, and demanded to see him, telling the maid she already knew there was something wrong. The maid showed her to Logan's bedroom, which she hadn't seen in over a year, and explained he'd been brought up maybe ten minutes before, and they were starting to worry. Starting. She would've given her a piece of her mind, but didn't. Logan was more important than lecturing the help about actually helping.

She isn't sure what she'd tell him when he woke up. The credit card trace was practically useless, and there were no other leads. She knows what it feels like, to have your mother run out and abandon you. It's worse than knowing she's dead, in a way. But she doesn't know what to say, so she waits, lets him doze a little, before they start living again, even if he doesn't want to. She has things to tell him. Wonders whether she should call Duncan, but her cell is in her bag, on the other side of the bed, and the regular phone is nowhere to be seen. It'd wait. But she needed to call him. He knew what to do, even in his weird drug-haze thing.

It's not a very long wait. Her butt just about starts to fall asleep when he moves, stretches, and whimpers in pain. Her hands automatically move to stroke him carefully, but she pulls away, embarrassed and uncomfortable, when he opens his eyes.

"You're still here." He sounds surprised, not entirely angry, but not too welcoming, either. Slowly, painfully, he pulls away from her and pushes himself up, wrapped in the sheet for modesty. He looks down and blushes a little.

"Of course I'm here." She replies neutrally, smiling- she knows what he's thinking, and even now it's kind of nice that he can be embarrassed about it. "Don't worry, you were in your birthday suit when I got here. One of the house staff helped you out there."

"Oh." A spark of his normal confidence returns, but he still looks worn and miserable. He sits there quietly for a few moments, not looking at her still, before something appears to float up in his mind. "Why did you come, again? I mean, what gave you the idea that you were welcome?"

She glares at him. "Last I checked, you were still paying me." He flinches, and she stops. She's angry because he's lashing out, and she's doing exactly the same back to him- she's furious at his parents for letting it happen, at herself for not knowing, and she's taking it out on him. Great work, Veronica. She lowers her voice a little as she continues, trying to sound calmer than she is. She's working, not just helping out a friend. When did she go back to thinking about Logan as a friend? "I thought you still wanted to find your mother."

He subsides, some of the anger burning itself out. "I do. The credit card?"

"Yeah." She nods, but there's not much hope there. "I'll have a bit more information on it later tonight. You left so fast I wasn't even sure you'd heard me. But…I wouldn't get my hopes up, Logan. It could be a mistake."

"And it could be my mother." He said, hardness coming back into his voice and face. How dare she kill whatever's left of his hopes? "I'm not going to give up because of some stupid video." But he is, and he has, and they both know it. He was sure there were no more tears left in him, but his eyes are misting again and he blinks angrily. Not now, and not again, with her watching. "So now what?"

"We wait until I get another call." She shrugs. "Doesn't happen in a day, you know." She knows he's hurting, and she hates to add to it. Suddenly she doesn't even want to leave anymore. Unless…"I'm taking you home."

"What am I now, a puppy?" He gives her a look, "Get real, Ronnie."

"I am real." She pushes at his arm lightly. "Your dad may be drinking himself to sleep downstairs, but you can't stay here. I'd take you to Duncan's, but I'm not _persona_ most _grata_ at the Kane household, for some reason. So, you're coming home with me for a bit, until I can get Duncan to come over and pick you up."

He glares at her, still, anger and humiliation and resignation warring within him. She doesn't look away, returning his stare equally, so certain of her righteousness it's disgusting. Finally he growls, as much as a teenaged voice can growl, "Get out Ronnie."

Steady eyes, not blinking, not moving, and he sighs. Speaking very slowly, and using small words, he repeats himself. "Ve-ro-ni-ca. Get out. I want to get dressed. Ok?"

Bright smile. "Sure. Why didn't you say so sooner?" And he suddenly remembers how much he'd like to strangle her sometimes, the perky little brat. She learned from the best, though, and no one ever beat Lilly at the cute-yet-lethal game. He scowls at her ineffectually and shoos her out.

He has special clothes for these events. Loose shorts, shirt a few sized bigger that he usually wore. Looked like a surfer dude, but a least it didn't rub against anything. Shoes, glance in the mirror- oh, god. God-damn.

"Ronnie, get back here." He shouts. Like a genie, she appears far too quickly. Must've been right out his door. Giving him a worried look. He hates the note of despair in his voice. "I can't go out like this." Obvious tear strains, his eyes red, face kind of blotchy. This doesn't happen in movies. "They'll see me."

"Logan…" a surprised giggle escapes, and he's reminded than she's still younger than him, and that both of them are still kids. "You are such a drama queen sometimes. Go wash your face, you'll be fine. Nobody's going to see you."

"Hello? Earth to Mars?" They both smile faintly at the overused pun, "We've been under siege for days, Veronica. Every tabloid and teen magazine has people parked outside. I can't risk it."

"They didn't see me come in." She says confidently. It's almost enough to reassure him, for a moment. "Nobody ever notices the help coming in. We're going out the same way. Like, do you want a paper bag to cover your face? 'Cause that can become a permanent fixture if it works for you. Do the rest of us a favor." Gentle snark, her expression shows she's doing it more for normality's sake than out of malice and he's absurdly grateful. He's tired of people walking on eggshells around him and whispered comments behind his back. Finally he nods.

"Ok. But this going to ruin my reputation…" He heads towards his bathroom and over the water her voice floats over to him.

"Don't worry, I won't threaten your virtue."

It's almost enough to make him laugh.


	4. 4

A/N: Took me a while, I know. Sorry. This chapter brought to you by the kind beta-ing skills of Iceworm- thank you muchly. Thanks also to all my reviewers- bunnyangel, this is the one where Logan reminds us all he's no martyred saint- he's a spoiled kid, despite everything.

They still don't belong to me. Sigh.

Veronica's car is parked behind the house, as close to his entrance as a car can get Logan spares a

moment to wonder how she got that far. It doesn't really matter. It's nearly 2 am and he can still hear the distant voices of several vigilant reporters. Veronica opens the driver's door, and gestures to the car. "Just…as an added precaution, why don't you stay in the back, and sort of flatten yourself out ? They won't see you. I can even cover you up a bit."

He knows that it's not just about not being seen. Lying flat would be a lot less painful, and her eyes show she's thought of that. He doesn't want to feel grateful that she's helping him save face. He doesn't want to feel grateful in general. He hates that she knows, that she's seen him this helpless-broken. He hates that a part of him is _glad_ she knows, because now he doesn't have to hide it anymore, even if most of him wants to pretend it never happens. Logan is…confused. He's not used to this kind of conflict. He doesn't think about these things normally. But nothing's normal now. Silently, he scrunches himself down into the back seat, and she covers him with some sort of blanket. The seat smells like dust and dog and air freshener- the kind that never gets anything fresher. He's not going to be sick. He's ok. It's not far to Veronica's.

"We're past the gates, you're safe." Veronica means every word of that. Breathing a silent sigh of relief that phase one of her improvised rescue operation has gone successfully, she hears him let out an explosive breath and wonder whether he's been holding his too. He doesn't sit up, and she doesn't comment. She's not sure what to do next. Her hasty promise not to tell anybody feels like complete idiocy now. She can't not do something about it. It's bad and wrong and twisted and- Logan's her friend. She wouldn't wish those kinds of marks on her worst enemy. Which, come to think of it, Logan was up until what, three weeks ago? This is very strange. She's not even entirely certain why she's doing this, still. But she's taking him out of that place others call his home. And she'd do something about this situation, even if it's only giving him someone else he can call and talk to about it when it happens again. The fact that she's not thinking in terms of 'if' disgusts her.

"Want me to call Duncan?" She asks, trying to sound casual, certain of herself. He reads her too well, sometimes.

"Why?" He sounds tired, flat, bitter. Not like himself at all. It scares her a little. "So he can be angry with me too?"

"Angry?" That's a surprise. "Why angry?"

"First." She can hear him shifting in the back, and a stifled hiss of pain, "because it's about, what, 2 o'clock? And we all have stuff to do tomorrow? And, because he's always angry."

"About what?" Amazing that he keeps answering. Why would Duncan be angry, rather than sympathetic?

"The world?" Logan's answer sounds more like a question. Duncan's always angry when this happens, and Logan's never sure at what or at whom. He knows Duncan hates Aaron- that's never been in doubt. But as they both got older, he felt like Duncan was getting angry with him, as well. Every time it happened the questions repeated. What happens next time? When is it gonna end? Why don't you _do_ something about it, Logan? Or maybe it's just the exasperated silence, the 'I don't even know what to do about you, you're hopeless, I've given up' look on his face, that makes him feel like he'd somehow failed his friend, not just his father or himself. Logan understands Duncan, but Duncan doesn't understand him. Duncan's still the child ready to take on the world. He doesn't understand that a single whisper could topple the fragile life he's built, on lies and pretence and hope. "Me? Himself, my dad, I don't know." He closes his eyes. "Don't wake him up."

"Okay." She agrees quietly. She doesn't want to argue. She'll call Duncan as soon as it's humanly polite to do it (like, in three or four hours, maybe) and yell at him, really loudly, and for a long time, until he got his head out of his ass. Then, maybe, she'll ask him over.

The rest of the drive passes in silence. He's busy thinking, and she doesn't want to disturb him. He refuses her help getting out of the car, which cheers her up for a moment. Her cheerfulness lasts exactly as long as it takes to get into the apartment complex and within sight of her apartment.

"Crap." There's a light on in the living room.

"What's wrong?"

"I think my dad's discovered I didn't come home earlier." She bites her lip. "Don't worry, I'll explain. Just…you keep quiet, okay?" She gives him a slightly worried look. Not that her dad would be that upset over a friend-related emergency, but she doesn't know how much he'll demand to be told, when it involves bringing a guy home to sleep. And she knows she can't really tell him anything without Logan's permission. And the chances of that happening? Slim to none. Logan gives her the pleading, kicked-puppy look that no female can resist.

"Don't tell him, Ronnie. Please?"

"He's a private detective and an ex-cop, Logan." She explains gently, "I doubt I'll need to tell him anything. But I won't. I promised I wouldn't tell anybody, and that goes for my dad as well."

"Okay." He nods hesitantly. She wonders again where the real Logan is and who's that scared kid walking besides her. She knows they're the same guy, but it's still eerie.

She opens the door carefully, and sees her dad waiting in his customary spot, reading a book. He lifts his head when she enters, waiting to see her guilty look and listen to stuttered explanations, but she provides neither. Instead, she steps aside and practically drags Logan through the door. "Hey dad."

Keith is about to say something sarcastic and cutting, possibly ending in his daughter's grounding, but then he realizes who his daughter brought home with her, and raises an eyebrow instead. "Veronica. Logan- long time no see."

"Yeah." She agrees. They both look like crap, the children. Veronica red eyed and tense, Logan…like one of the bail-jumper he picks up sometimes when they realize their short reprieve is over. Interesting. He hasn't seen him in over a year, especially not with Veronica. In fact, he's spent whole evenings listening to her rant about what a jerk he was. So what was he doing in their home? "Listen, dad, can the explanations wait five minutes? And can Logan crash here tonight?"

Now he's really interested, enough to put the book down and stand up. "Why would he want to? I thought you two weren't even on speaking terms." But he can guess, with everything that's been going on in the Echolls home. He feels for Logan, and he's smart enough to know his daughter would identify with his trouble. Once again he wonders what he'd done to the universe to deserve all that had happened to his family.

"Dad, please." Her eyes plead with him not to ask yet. Logan doesn't even look at him. He's staring at the floor, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He's miles away. Okay, so maybe the explanations really can wait

"He can stay, sure." A moment of wordless communication passes between father and daughter, and Keith ends it by jerking his head towards her room. It's a precedent he may regret setting, but he has a feeling they'd need the couch. Her look of gratitude almost melts his cold, cynical heart. She cares too much- more than he does. But she's young yet. Maybe she still has a chance to keep caring, if she doesn't get burned too badly. She nods and takes Logan's arm, steering him towards her room. Finally, he raises his head and flashes Keith a shadow of the smile he remembers from last year, when the kids hung out together almost constantly, before Lilly died.

"Thanks. Mr. Mars." And he means it, too.

"Sure, Logan." Keith nods, not smiling at all. Now he's worried more than intrigued.

Veronica takes Logan into her room. A million possible quips about not taking advantage fly through her head, but not one of them makes it out. They all seem so…inappropriate, just now. Still, she's glad she cleaned her room today. No embarrassing bits of underwear tossed around. "Come on." she says quietly. "Just…lie down for a moment, I'll explain stuff to my dad and be right back. Want something to drink?"

"Scotch?" He suggests. Kicking off his shoes, he stretches out, face down, bouncing slightly. Water bed. Who'd have thought it. He hears her snort behind him.

"Yeah, right. I'll being you a coke."

"Coke would be nice." He's not really concentrating anymore. But yeah, drugs would help. Take away the pain. No. He can't. That's what finished his mom off, alcohol and pills. Wasn't what ultimately did it, but it killed her as surely as whatever else she'd done. He has very little hope left. He doesn't comment, joke, anything he knows she thinks he'd do. He doesn't have the energy. It's very hard to think about anything that doesn't immediately lead to his mother or other places too painful for him to go to yet.

"I'll be back." She half expects him to be asleep by the time she returns. Closing the door behind her, she returns to the living room, where Keith hasn't moved yet. Wordlessly, she hugs him as hard as she can, and suddenly she's crying, sobbing helplessly into his shirt, letting out the anger, misery and worry in a short, violent burst of emotion. Worried, he holds her, making soothing noises.

"Oh, Veronica…what's wrong, honey?"

"N-nothing." She pulls back and sniffs hard, trying to stop the tears. She hugs him again, "Just…I love you- a lot. And I'm glad you're my dad and I wouldn't want anybody else, okay?"

"Um, thanks." he says, surprised and touched and still worried. "C'mon." He leads her to the couch, still holding her, because she's still sniffling, and sits them both down. "Now, tell me what's wrong? What happened to Logan?"

She makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a snort. "His mom died." She sniffs again and goes on in a steadier voice. "He- he didn't believe she was dead. And he asked me to find her, he thought she'd just run away or something. And I did." She outlines, very briefly everything that happened, including the video. "And then I got tapped for her credit card, he was so happy, dad…But it was just a blip, a ghost, no one really used it. And…it hit him pretty hard. He had to get outta the house, so…I brought him here." She shrugs. There's nothing more she can explain, and she hopes to hell it's enough for him.

To her surprise, Keith nods, looking rather upset as well. "Veronica…I warned you about helping friends out, getting too close to your cases, and giving people false hope." he says reproachfully. She nods miserably feeling about an inch tall. "But it was nice of you to help him all the same. I'm sorry it didn't work out, honey." He's sorry for more than that- Lynn had been a good friend since they'd been in high school. "It was a good try, but…sometimes it's best not to hope, especially if they've already had the memorial service and declared her officially dead." He knows there's more to the story, but he's made a career out of reading people, and he can read his daughter better than most, so he doesn't press. It's a clear case of 'ask no questions, be told no lies', and he taught her that one.

"I know, dad…but he wanted to try, and he was- he is a friend." And if she could find his mom, with all the evidence pointing against it, then there's still a chance she can find her own somewhere out there. She knows Lianne isn't dead, at least. Logan doesn't have that luxury anymore. "He's just gonna crash here tonight, ok? We'll see about tomorrow…when we get there." Just as long as he doesn't ask.

"That's fine, Veronica." He kisses her forehead lightly, and she pulls away with teenaged indignation. "As long as he's in your bed, you're on the couch, young lady." He waves a warning finger, breaking the tension, "If there's a man in your bed, you'd better not be there as well. Got that?"

"Aye aye, dad." She mock-salutes, smiling, but the worry's still there. He'd figure it out eventually, she knows. "I'll just go make sure he's ok. And then…" She glances at the clock, he follows her eyes. Nearly 3 am. "We should go to sleep, shouldn't we?"

"I'd say so, yeah." He nods. "I'm gonna get to bed. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, dad." Her smile is strained and sad. She doesn't look like his little girl anymore, and he hurts for her, for himself, and for her mother, who won't know her, if and when she gets back. But he's a cynical old man, so he pushes down the hurt and goes to bed, wondering what the morning will bring.

Logan's half asleep when Veronica returns to her room carrying two cans of coke. He waves her off, turning his face to the wall, and she shrugs philosophically. "I'll be outside. See you in the morning." He mumbles something into the pillow, and she wants to warn him about his life expectancy should she find any suspicious stains, but doesn't have the heart to. She leaves the can on her bedside table. A spare blanket from her closet joins the throw pillows on the couch, and she curls up on the couch

A high-pitched but definitely male shriek wakes her up and she falls of the couch with a thud of panic. The shriek is followed by a torrent of inventive cursing, some words of which even she didn't know. Logan stomps into the living room, clad only in one of her fluffy blue towels and a furious glower. Wait- Logan, living room, towel? The hell? Oh. Right. Logan in her living room is okay. Logan in a towel, however, puzzles her a bit. She pulls herself up and faces him, one eyebrow raised, until he stops to take a breath. "Good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine."

"Fuck off, Mars." His voice is harsh again, tight with anger, his face flushed. Logan isn't a morning person on the best of days, and today's far from the best. Waking up had been a shock, of strange bed that smelled like a girl, sore head and sore everything else. Now that he knows what he's doing here, he also remembers why, and he's even less happy. She takes in his appearance again, notices drops of water beaded on his face, hair and chest, and can't help a grin.

"You tried to take a shower, right?" She shouldn't find it so funny. It's petty and mean. But Logan Echolls has never lived on this side of town and his introduction to the wonders of cold water in the morning is just too perfect. She knows she sounds disgustingly perky, all things considered. "Hot water's a bit slow in the morning. Wait for it long enough, it'll come."

"I said, fuck off." He grates. How dare she laugh at him? Suddenly he remembers the whole damn thing is her fault and wonders what possessed him to let her help. He's tense, cold, and feels in danger somehow.

"Language, young m-" An older male voice behind him starts talking, then sucks in his breath sharply. Now he remembers where the danger is. The anger disappears from his face. Horror and shame replace it. Without another word he spins around, marches past Keith without looking in his direction at all, back into Veronica's room, and slams the door hard.

Veronica watches in horrified silence as her father looks at her closed door, then back at her, comprehension and more questions clear on his face. For once, the ever-prepared Veronica is caught at a loss, speechless and helpless. "Please don't ask me, dad." she begs, quietly, shaking her head. "I- I promised I wouldn't." It's not her story to tell. As much as she wants to drop it all in her father's lap and let him make it all better, she knows she can't. He nods, very slowly.

"Later?"

"Maybe." She can't promise anything until she talks to Logan, and somehow she thinks he won't be in a talking mood right now. "I'm gonna…call Duncan." It's something to do, a part of her plan. Plans make her feel safer. Duncan would possibly know how to handle Logan. She sure doesn't, and she hates the helplessness. Keith nods.

"Ok. I'm going to the office." He's clearing out the house for her, and she's grateful. "I'll be there or on my cell if you need anything. Call me, Veronica. Just to let me know. Okay?"

"Yeah." She agrees. He leaves, and she picks up the phone and dials the number she's never bothered to erase from her memory.

"Duncan? Could you…come over?"


End file.
